


Boozicals the Musicals 2: Revenge of the Jell-O Shots

by JoulesIsIronic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (since by that point we'd completely devolved into drunkenness), Can You (K)not?, Drunken Shenanigans, Eyebrows, Gen, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not tagging the last three prompts, Time Travel, Wake Up Married, because it'll just disappoint anyone who's actually looking for them, coffee shop AU, creepy stalky derek, were!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/pseuds/JoulesIsIronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jell-O Shots were taken. Fanfiction Bingo occurred (again). Ficlets were written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otatop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/gifts), [Stormysaslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormysaslytherin/gifts).



> Written in chorus with otatop and stormysaslytherin. The prompts are in the tags. 
> 
> A warning about prompt number five (Creepy Stalky Derek). This one goes in a serial killer direction and the language used implies rape/non-con (and it's just all-together creepy as it is), so please do not read if uncomfortable or if triggered.

_1\. Minor Character Death_

No one really notices at first.

Life goes on as usual. The teachers teach, the students learn, the school day progresses in its usual manner. The first person to realize something is wrong is Finstock, and even that’s by accident.

“Who left the water running in the locker room?” Finstock demands, looking around at the blank seas of faces. “You know, the school has to pay for that and when they track it back to _my_ locker room, it’s gonna reflect badly on _me_. It was Greenberg, wasn’t it? Greenberg?”

Finstock examines each student for a solid minute of uncomfortable staring before coming to the conclusion that Greenberg isn’t amongst the bunch. He rounds on Stilinski.

“Stilinski, where’s Greenberg.”

The boy in question shrugs. “Haven’t seen him, Coach?”

So he directs his attention back to the group. “Has anyone seen Greenberg today?” He’s greeted with a collective shrug and rubs at his temples. “You’re all useless, utterly useless. I want you all running laps around the field until someone can remember where he ran off to.”

And thus, the entire lacrosse team spends practice running circles around the field until Finstock reluctantly lets them leave. He drives home in a blur, irritated that anyone thought they could get away with skipping practice. Finstock forces himself to have a beer before calling the Greenberg home.

A woman answers in a defeated voice. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Greenberg?” He realizes as he calls that he doesn’t know Greenberg’s first name, so he avoids bringing that up. “Are you aware that your son missed practice today? That’s the third in a row. If he misses any more, he’ll be on the bench for the rest of the season.”

Not that he would have been on the field either way. The kid’s a disaster. He hasn’t seen such an awful athlete in a decade.

He hears a sob on the other end of the phone and freezes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sure we can work something out. Maybe if he practices more we can get him on the field for a few minutes or so. He’s not _that_ bad.”

The sob chokes off and he hears a sniffle. “Mr. Finstock, I’m… I’m sorry you have to find out this way. Our son, he… he passed away over the weekend. There was an animal attack. The wake was yesterday. Theo, he… he spoke very highly of you. You were always his favorite teacher.”

Finstock isn’t sure what he is hearing. He couldn’t be… “Wait, are you saying Greenberg is dead?”

There’s another sob over the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he hears. Then the line is dead.

Finstock places his phone on the counter, trying to picture the boy in question. He can’t. Greenberg’s always been this blur in his head, this monumental headache, this annoying voice in the back of the crowd. But to think that he’s _dead_.

Finstock slouches in his chair and closes his eyes and thinks of the dead teenager he can barely remember.

***

_2\. Time Travel_

Stiles groped his pockets, searching for his phone. His dad wanted him to check in every hour on the hour, especially since the _incident_. It was with ever-increasing irritation that he realized he didn’t have it with him.

Grumbling under his breath, he wandered the streets, searching for a phone box to make the quick call. It was amazing how few still existed. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he saw one. When his eyes spotted the big blue box, he released a sigh of relief.

“Halleluiah,” he muttered, and pushed the door open.

It was surprisingly specious for a phone box. Not that he’d ever been in one, but still. It shook a bit, making some strange noises after the door shut, but he ignored it. Phone boxes probably did that all the time. His eyes searched the giant console until he spotted an old-fashioned telephone. Sauntering over, he placed the call.

“Hey dad,” he said, tapping is foot and fidgeting as he spoke to his father’s voicemail. “So, just calling to check in.”

From one of the many passageways, a man wandered out as he spoke, wearing a bow-tie and a fez, staring at him, searching behind him dramatically, and eyeing him suspiciously. Stiles held up a finger.

“So, I’m all good. I lost my phone though so I won’t be able to check in again for a while. Talk to you soon. Love you. Bye.”

He hung up and gave the stranger a small wave. The man, again, checked behind him.

“How did you get in my T.A.R.D.I.S.?” the man demanded. He had a British accent.

“The door,” Stiles told him. “So, what is this, anyway? Some Doctor Who-themed phone booth. Gotta give you points for authenticity. Let me guess, you’re Eleven.”

“No, I’m twelve-hundred. Wait, Doctor what?”

“You know, that sci-fi show about the Doctor. The time travel one.”

“ _What_? Who said anything about time travel. Or Doctors. Wait, who are _you_?”

“Stiles,” he told him. “Look, this is totally cool, but I gotta meet my bro, Scott, so… peace.”

He turned from the man, leaving him flabbergasted, and opened the door…

Only to find a dinosaur staring at him.

“Wow,” Stiles said faintly. “Authentic.”

“Yeah,” the stranger said.

“So… you’re the Doctor then.”

“I appear to be, yes.”

“And this is your T.A.R.D.I.S.. And we just travelled through time.”

“Also correct.”

Well, weirder things had happened to him. “Okay.”

The Doctor stared at him. Then he smiled. “Oh, I like you.”

Stiles grinned in reply. “I like you, too. Liked Ten better, but hey, you win some you lose some. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

They ended up racing triceratops. It was awesome. And when the Doctor finally brought him home, it was only a day later than he intended, which is really pretty accurate for him.

***

_3\. Wake Up Married_

When Derek wakes up, he stares dazedly down at the head of dark hair curled into his arm and smiles. From what little he can remember of last night, it must have been a good one. For the first time since Stiles asked him, he’s glad that he decided to go out with the bunch of them during the lunar eclipse, one of the longest ones in recorded history. He ate, he drank, and, apparently, he did much more than that.

The man curled in his arms, mostly hidden by the covers, squirms, turning his head toward him.

Then, the two of them scream.

“What the hell?” Scott stammers, hurling himself in the opposite direction. “How did… wait… _what_? Why are you in my bed?!”

Derek is too stunned to really say much, except a dull, “You’re not Stiles.”

“ _Stiles_? What about _Stiles_? What is even _happening_?”

Derek kind of shrugs, because he has no clue either. Then he notices something glittering on his finger.

“Uh…” he mutters intelligently.

Scott follows his line of sight. “No,” he says.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but he’s not really sure how he can help. This is… unexpected.

“There’s no way I’m married to _you_. I can’t be. I love _Allison_. Not that you’re not, you know, good looking, but… just _no_.”

Derek frowns. “I’m not exactly happy about this either. But we can try to make the best out of it, I guess.”

“I’m not staying Vegas married to you.”

“I meant get it annulled.”

Scott sags in relief. “Oh thank God.”

They don’t talk about the elephant in the room. The fact that the room smells like sex. Thankfully, they don’t have to, because the door swings open and Stiles and Allison walk in, brandishing a box of some kind of baked good and a tray with four coffees.

Scott eyes the rings on both of their ring fingers. “No. Don’t tell me you two got married, too?”

Allison frowns at him, entirely confused. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles is watching the group of them. Then he bursts out laughing. “Wait, did you think you married Derek, bro?”

Scott turns pink. “Didn’t I?”

Allison gazes at him like he’s an adorable little puppy. “Oh, honey, no.”

Derek lets out a sigh of relief, because if Scott married Allison, that means he accidently married Stiles. He’s not sure why he feels better about that.

“You both just happen to hold your alcohol really, really badly. Plus, we found the wedding certificates and pictures when we woke up. We decided to treat the four of us to some delicious donuts.”

Derek still isn’t sure why the four of them apparently felt the need to share a room, but he doesn’t care at this point. Even if Stiles doesn’t want to stick with it – even if he wants to get an annulment – at least everything’s somewhat settled. Stiles doesn’t seem to perturbed. Scott’s a whole lot happier. Everything seems okay.

“I think we’ll all be very happy together,” Stiles says, chipperly, and Derek manages to get a look at the marriage license.

It’s a four-way wedding. Four. As in…

“Wait, we all married each other?” Derek asks, aghast.

Stiles shrugs. Allison shrugs. Scott seems to be okay with anything as long as he and Allison are together in it.

So Derek sighs. “Well, okay.”

And the rest of them climb into bed.

***

_4.  Were!Stiles_

Stiles leans back into the couch, slicing through the bag of chips with an elongated claw and downing a bunch in weird half-gulp, half-chew.

“Best werewolf ever,” he says to himself, slumping back and listening his dad talk to the DA about a recent arrest.

Being a werewolf has suited Stiles pretty well. Star athlete, top student, perfect son. He’s pretty great. It probably helps that he was a huge sci-fi nerd before all this even started, anyway. It was a pretty obvious step to simply lock himself up on the full moon. Any idiot could have figured that bit out. Well, any idiot but Scott, but he was pretty distracted at the time.

He finishes off the bag of chips and grabs his keys off the table. “Heading to Scotts,” he calls out to his dad. Werewolf or not, he doesn’t really want to ruin his clothes running the distance there. Besides, he loves his baby.

His dad doesn’t reply and he slides into the drivers’ seat, cruising pretty easily to Scott’s. No traffic, either. Halleluiah. He parks Rosco on the side of the road and invites himself in.

“Hey Mrs. McCall,” he greets as she’s sitting at the kitchen table, taking care of bills. She rolls her eyes at him. Stiles jumps up the stairs in long strides, showing off to himself. “Hey Scotty.”

The two decide to go out and about. Stiles is glad. Werewolf or not, he still hates sitting around. And now that he’s been turned, many of the major problems in Beacon Hills have been taken care of. The hunters turned tail (except the Argents), the other wolves have left them alone, the Nematon is still a weird-ass thing, but, hey, it’s not going all Hellmouth on them, so Stiles’ll take it.

They end up hanging with the rest of the pack. Stiles is annoyed that Jackson – back and visiting for break – decided to show up, but, well, watcha gonna do? Jackson makes a snide comment and Stiles flashes his red eyes at him in warning. It shuts him up real nice.

Stiles smiles. It’s good to be the alpha.

***

_5\. Creepy Stalky Derek_

He watches the boy with serrated eyes and a jagged smile. There’s something about him – his enticing scent, his doe-eyed look – that appeals to the predator in Derek. It doesn’t help that he’s the Sheriff’s son – what’s life without a little danger?

Derek switches it up, following the boy in various forms. As a man, he blends in with crowds, but as a wolf, he blends in better, sticking to the shadows, growling at those who approach. No one wants to fuck with a supposedly rabid dog, and Derek’s one of the most rabid.

Eventually, Derek needs more, just as he always does. He thrives on the fear, on the panic. It isn’t hard to get the boy’s number. It’s even easier to make the call.

His boy answers with a wary, “Hello?”

Derek sits outside his house, watching him through the window as he frowns at the phone, checking the number. “Hello?” he repeats again.

“Hello Stiles,” Derek says, smiling as he watches the boy frown.

“Who is this?”

He can see the boy typing in keys frantically, likely Googling the number.

“You won’t find your answer on the internet,” Derek informs him, watching as the boy freezes in his machinations, searching around frantically. Even if Stiles does search out the window, he won’t see him. If Derek is good at anything, it’s slinking into the shadows.

“Who the hell are you?” Stiles demands again, wide-eyed and panicked. The boy’s too curious for his own good. Won’t hang up the phone until he gets some answers.

Derek smiles to himself. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“That’s not as comforting as you probably think it is,” Stiles informs him. He’s gazing out the windows now, but just as Derek predicted, he’s blind to his presence.

“I wasn’t aiming for comforting.”

“Fantastic,” Stiles spits. He sounds scared now, and it makes Derek’s blood heat up excitedly, coursing though his veins, feverish with desire. “You know my dad’s the Sheriff, right? He’ll be home any minute now.”

“No, he won’t,” Derek says, enjoying the way Stiles heart rate spikes. “I’m afraid there’s a hostage situation across town. He’ll be preoccupied for the foreseeable future.”

The boy stills, giving up on his search, and slams the window shut. Derek can hear him padding through the house. “Well aren’t you super knowledgeable.”

“Very,” Derek allows. “Locking the doors isn’t going to help,” he adds, as he hears the deadbolt click into place. Stiles breathes in and out in short gasps. He can hear him running to all the entrances, checking the locks.

“Okay, enough, creeper McGee. Go fuck yourself.” And the line goes dead.

Derek shakes his head and clicks a button from his phone, listening as Stiles attempts to call the police and swears when the line goes dead. It’s amazing the technology available nowadays. How easy it is to fuck with phone signals.

He allows Stiles a few moments of building tension to pace around his living room, frantically trying to dial his cell. With a single claw, Derek swipes the power line connecting his house, reveling in the sound of Stiles racing pulse, and the small swear the outage elicits.

Even from just outside the door, Stiles sent of terror is addictive, all consuming. He wants to taste it, devour it, savor it as he rips the boy apart, breaking him bit by bit until there’s nothing left but bones and blood. But maybe if the boy begs prettily enough, he’ll keep him instead, turn him, allow the boy a life as Derek’s very own pet.

He’s never had a pet before. It could be fun. Might break the monotony for a little while until its time to find something new to play with.

His lips spread in a cruel smile as he knocks on the door. “Stiles, open up,” he calls, not expecting the boy to make any move to do so. “It’s impolite to leave your guests waiting.”

In chorus with the pounding of Stiles’ heart, he crashes the door open, inviting himself inside.

***

_6\. Coffee Shop AU_

Derek hates Stiles Stilinski. He hates his stupid face and his stupid upturned nose and his stupid moles and his stupid honey eyes. He hates the way Stiles smiles at him and he hates the way after every order, he _winks_. Derek hates that Stiles shows up every morning like clockwork for a pumpkin spice latte and every afternoon (just before Derek’s shift ends) for a medium hazelnut, three creams, six sugars, with a shot of espresso.

But most of all, he resents the fact that Stiles flaunts his stupidly perfect face despite the fact that he’s obviously dating some pretty redhead, with whom he often shows up, arm-in-arm, laughter on his lips.

It’s about time for Stiles’ first stop of the day and Derek frowns, but can’t bring himself to switch positions with Erica. He hates himself for forcing himself to wait on his long-time crush.

“What’s crack-a-lacking, big guy,” he hears Stiles greet, looking up to see those gorgeous eyes watching him.

Derek grunts in response. No point in even bothering to flirt, not when the kid’s so obviously taken. He’s got his girlfriend with him, who’s frowning into her phone.

She turns to Stiles, a sharpness in her eyes. “Excuse me. I have to speak with Jackson for a moment.”

Then she stalks away and Derek can hear hushed fury in her muffled voice.

“They’re fighting,” Stiles supplies without prompting. Derek looks up from making his coffee (it’s not like he doesn’t know his order by heart by now, anyway). When Derek doesn’t respond, he continues, “Her and her boyfriend, that is. He’s a huge tool.”

This grabs Derek’s attention. He places the latte in front of Stiles and starts pouring the hot water for Lydia’s tea. “Her boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Jackson. Total jackass. I have no idea why she even bother’s with him, but, well, I mean, I guess from an objective point-of-view he’s kind of hot and has nice abs, so that must be the appeal.”

“She’s dating Jackson,” Derek says slowly, finishing up the tea. “Not you?”

At that, Stiles buckles over laughing. “Yeah, not, Lydia and me? Hah, funny. I mean, yeah, I had the biggest crush on her for _years_ , but we’re just bros now. Besides, I have my eye on someone else now.”

Derek sags at that. Of course he does.

“Yeah,” Stiles continues, leaning across the counter all casual-like. “He’s this, like, stupidly attractive barista. Makes the best pumpkin spice latte I’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming. But he never seems to make any kind of move or acknowledgment, so I have absolutely _zero_ clue if he wants anything to do with me.”

Derek blinks at him. “I get off at four.”

Stiles grins. “I know. I’ll be back at 3:50.”

He leaves Derek a five dollar tip, grabs he and his friend’s drinks, and winks, leaving Derek to stare after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was already well on my way to heavy intoxication when I started this one, so the last three prompts are basically just one or two sentence, plotless word vomits. Waaaaaay more drinking happened last night than intended. This chapter is posted in its unedited glory.

_1\. Magic!Stiles_

The contents of the cauldron were glowing blue. Which would have been fine if it were a different potion, but since the one he was making was supposed to glow _red_ , Stiles was a wee-bit concerned.

Then, it started to bubble.

“Thaaaaaaat’s not a good sound,” Stiles muttered.

It exploded pretty spectacularly, which, on one hand, was kind of awesome, but on the other was reasonably disgusting. And dangerous, since the potion wasn’t supposed to make contact with human skin.

He stared down at the gooey blue substance and sighed, glad that his Harris had stepped out on his detention, leaving him to finish up alone. Stiles really didn’t want to hear _that_ spiel again. Casting a quick cleaning spell on the cauldron, he magicked it away. Then he tried to do the same to himself. The potion stuck, clinging to his skin, the herpes of magical substances.

“Great, I’m a walking STD,” he muttered, stepping from the room.

Someone coughed and he looked up to find the stupidly gorgeous Derek Hale staring at him with a combination of concern and surprise. Because _of course_ the head of the Gryffindor quidditch team would catch him like this, because that was his life.

He looked down at himself and played back the last minute in his head. Then he blushed. “Uh, not literally,” he added, hastily.

“Right,” Derek said, eying him from head to toe.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Stiles noted, crossing his arms, the residue causing his arms to stick to his chest. He pretended it was on purpose.

“It looks like a potions accident.”

“Then it’s exactly what it looks like,” Stiles rectified. He paused, glancing at the floor. “So, I have to hit the hospital wing. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Derek just stared at him. “Sure.”

Stiles didn’t take a second to say goodbye. He just hurried off, leaving a very confused werewolf in his wake.

***

_2\. Drunken Shenanigans_

“I love you, you know that,” Stiles tells the attractive man next to him at the bar. He looks an awful lot like Derek Hale. Like, ridiculously like Derek Hale.  So he tells him, “you look like my pal, Derek.”

“Stiles, how drunk are you?” the Derek look-alike demands.

“Why do you know my name?” He pauses. “Are you psychic?”

“It’s _me_ , you idiot.”

“No no no,” Stiles tells him, patting him condescenigly on the arm. “You see, Derek would already be threatening me or pressing me head against some kind of hard object and growling at me, so you’re not Derek. It’s okay. Derek’s kinda a poo-poo head anyway.”

Not-Derek glares at him. It’s very Derek-like. “Derek is not a poo-poo head.” Then he pauses. “ _I_ am not a poo-poo head. I think you’ve had enough to drink.” He reaches for Stiles’ glass.

Stiles pulls it away, pouting. “Nooooo I’ll know when I’ve had enough. You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m your alpha,” he snarls.

“Not anymore,” Stiles retorts. Then he frowns. “Oh.”

Derek crosses his arms. “You done?”

“No,” Stiles says, gesturing for another drink. The bartender rolls his eyes and Stiles groans. “You’re all against me.”

“Stiles, let me take you home.”

“No,” he grinds out petulantly.

Derek bares his teeth, ignorant to the fact that many of the Jungle’s patrons are staring at him. “Stiles, you need to stop.”

“Make me,” the teen snarls, downing the rest of his drink in  a single, choked gulp. His eyes water and he coughs.

“Stiles, you need to go home.”

“No one wants me there anyway,” Stiles mutters, clamping his mouth shut before he forgets and starts speaking again. “My dad can’t even look at me after everything that’s happened. I can’t… I… It’s easier to stay here, where I can just… melt away.” He looks at Derek with bleary eyes, barely focused. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I’m here.”

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I didn’t think I’d find you at a bar,” Derek retorts. “Since you’re, you know, _sixteen_.”

The bartender, who’s within hearing distance, freezes, rigid, and gives them a look. Derek narrows his eyes, wiggling his eyebrows judgmentally until he turns away.

“You gonna let me take you home?” Derek asks as Stiles gropes around for another drink. “Do you want to just walk around a bit, until you sober up?”

Stiles gazes up at him, then, gratefully. Then he looks back down at the counter. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

***

_3\. Can You (K)not?_

“Hey Scotty,” Stiles prods, flopping down on his bed. “Can I ask you a question?”

Scott gazes at him warily for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure. Shoot.”

Stiles isn’t sure how to preface his question, so he starts with the basics. “So, I’ve been watching a _lot_ of porn lately. Like, a lot. Like, an abundance of cocks, someone help me, a lot.”

Scott frowns at him. “I really don’t need to know that, dude.”

“Let me finish, will ya?” Stiles snaps, waiting until Scott gives him the go-ahead to continue. “As I was saying, _a lot_ of porn. But, it’s been a little, uh, questionable in it’s information presentation, so I thought I’d ask you, since, well, I mean, by this point you should know.”

Scott kind of backs away, scrunching his face, clearly uncomfortable with where this is going. “Know what?”

“Knotting,” Stiles blurts. “Is it a thing? Cause a lot of pornos seem to think it’s a thing.”

Scott eyes him judgmentally. “No.”

“No?” Stiles asks him, relieved.

“No, as in, no, I’m not answering that.”

It’s time to pull out the big guns. “If you don’t answer me, I’m asking Allison.”

Scott’s eyes widen for a moment. Then his gaze levels out. “Go ahead,” he says, shrugging.

“Oh, I will,” Stiles challenges.

When he eventually does ask Allison, she laughs in his face. He suspects she and Scott have been in communication and are plotting against him.

“You’ll have to wait and see for yourself,” she tells him, winking.

Stiles flails a bit, sinking into his seat. “You’re Satin. You’re pure evil.”

She doesn’t seem to mind this comparison.

Well, that leaves him with only one other option.

“Derek,” he says, sliding into a seat beside the frowning werewolf. “Is knotting a thing?”

Derek spits up his drink.

***

_4\. Eyebrows_

When Derek opens up the Christmas present, he’s surprised to find a pair of large, thick sunglasses, the type that would cover half of his face.

He looks at Erica. “Uh, thanks,” he manages to say. Then he gets to the next present. Sunglasses.

He turns to Boyd. “Thanks,” he tells him, too.

When he gets to the third pair, he can barely stop himself from glaring at Isaac, because, really, he should be thankful for anything anyone is willing to give him. “Thanks,” he manages to grind out. Isaac smiles.

He isn’t entirely surprised, at that point, when the next present is another pair, this one with a pink frame and purple lenses. He glances up at Stiles, staring at him judgmentally. “Really, Stiles?”

The teen shrugs. “They make your eyebrows less intimidating,” he informs him.

Derek frowns. “My eyebrows?”

The group around him nods in unison.

“Yeah, they’re totes murder-brows,” Erica tells him solemnly.

“My nightmares about them keep me awake at night,” Boyd adds, shuddering for effect.

Isaac agrees. “They’re pretty intimidating.”

Derek gazes at the pairs of glasses before him. “So you all bought me sunglasses to hide my eyebrows?” he asks incredulously.

They nod again.

Derek thinks he might need to find a new group of friends. Or a pair of tweezers. No, definitely new friends.

***

_5\. Mates_

Scott really really really loves Allsion. The end.

_6\. Scenting_

I think scenting is probably a werewolf thing but I don’t know what it is so I guess Derek scents Stiles and it’s all cool and Bailey let Kim do her shot kay thanks.

_7\. Cute fuzzy puppy kitten domestic_

So Isaac is a cute fuzzy puppy kitten and he likes to bake. And he bakes things for Scott and Allison ‘cause he’s totes in love with them. He bakes them super nice muffins shaped like hearts and penises and he gives them nice things for every occasion and he lvoes them a lot and they love him so merry Christmas everyone.


End file.
